


this late at night the talk is cheap

by without_wings (liam22)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liam22/pseuds/without_wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine; and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy one, I will indulge the other" for raithemohugger and the sylar_claire ficathon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this late at night the talk is cheap

**Author's Note:**

> Mega thanks to brandie for the super last minute beta job.

Her father is running late. That should have been her first warning.

This late at night, the school is deserted, even by the cleaning crew who have turned off all the lights inside the building. Now it’s just her and the shadows. She shifts her weight; one foot to the other, and then back again. She hikes her backpack higher up on her shoulder. If only she hadn’t gotten her car stolen, then she would have been able to drive herself home after practice.

 _If only. If only._

She wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. That should have been her second warning.

The voice sneaks up on her. Any voice would have, given her particular state, but this particular voice sends ice water chills through her veins. “Hello, Cheerleader.”

The scream sticks in her throat; not that there is anyone around to hear it. He’s so close, his breath so steady in her ear, that she can’t imagine how he wasn’t there a second ago. How had she really not noticed him sneaking up on her? Her father would be so disappointed; all his training for naught.

 _Why hadn’t she brought a gun, or a knife, or any kind of weapon really?_

He laughs like her thoughts are ink marked on her skin for him to read. “You don’t have to be afraid, babydoll.” His hands find her hips, as if it was just now occurring to him to hold her down. Although it’s more of a lover’s embrace than a captor’s clutched hold. That should have been her third warning.

“I’m not here for your power.” If this was supposed to take the edge off, it completely fails. She freezes completely rigid in his arms. The whole length of him is a hard wall behind her. She’s never felt so trapped. But maybe not. “Not this time, anyway.”

“Then why?” Why is he here? Why her? Why is the fear slipping out of her grasp? She has so many unanswered questions.

“I’ve been told I need other things in my life. Things besides powers.” Was it just a coincidence that they were both looking for answers?

 _No. I could never be like him._

She steals her resolve. The closest street lamp to her is flickering something fierce. If she could only concentrate on that and not him. Too bad he’s always been impossible to ignore.

“Like what?” She scoffs, an almost laugh that gives her the feeling of touching fire. She’s seen the pictures, read the details, been told the horror stories. She can’t imagine there being anything else more important to him than taking things that weren’t his.

 _Oh god. Was that why he was here? To take her?_

“Companionship. Love.” He pauses and his grip on her tightens, as if he forgot for a minute that he was pretending to play nice. She frowns imperceptibly; she’s not fond of the change. “I’m not dying alone.”

“And what does this have to do with me?”

 _Please. Please. Don’t be what I think._

His hands slip inside her knit top, ghosting up the sides of her stomach until they reach the elastic band of her sports bra. She doesn’t flinch at his butterfly-wing touches. She should have. She’s supposed to.

“Everything.” Save the cheerleader. “It has everything to do with you.”

He repeats the motion slower, gentler, if that's even possible. Her stomach does a quivery thing that had no place here at all. From behind her, the corners of his mouth turn up in what might be considered a smile. It’s a good thing she can’t see it.

“Say you’ll be mine.” The command slitters over skin that’s prickled with goose bumps. It’s just the cold. The fear and the cold. She really hopes he doesn’t realize that her skin isn’t the only part of her body that she could say that about. “Promise me, Claire.”

She’s supposed to only want to say no, right. Why isn’t she sure any more?

Her hesitation seems to anger him. His touches are rougher and he pulls her closer (and it seems like she definitely wasn’t the only one enjoying their little talk). His fingers slip under the edges of her sports bra, snapping the elastic against her skin. They’re too close to where she really wants them, but she refuses to let herself enjoy it. She’s not supposed to.

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine;” His hand skim back down her sides (too bad, she’d liked where they were), catching on the flippy ribbon-ends of her cheerleading skirt. He tugs, but he doesn’t need to. The skirt pushes up easily to her stomach. She tries to cover herself, and those stupid cheerleading shorts which really didn’t hide anything from his view. The smirk he gives the impulse is such a cross between wicked and lecherous that it makes her blush.

He continues, his voice shades lower, “And rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy one, I will indulge the other."

The warning makes her jump, but finally she is able to dig up enough spine to retort. “Love? What do you know about love?” Her voice feels more breathless than it should. Especially with the way he was walking her back against the entrance wall. Especially with the way his hands kept sliding higher and higher up her thighs. So much for spine.

The brick wall bites into her back, and even though she can heal from anything, she can feel the imprint of every single stone. Even that sensation can’t take her away from what is happening right in front of her, the press of something harder. His hips rock against her. The jut of what has to be his cock is grinding half-circles against her lower belly. His breath catches in a sigh that might as well be hers for how it ricochets off her chest. If she wasn’t blushing before, well, now it’s no contest…no matter what anyone says about cheerleaders being easy.

The last person who got this close was Brody…and look how that turned out.

Her legs shake (fear, right?) and he takes advantage of this to slip a hand between them. She doesn’t notice the tiny buck her hips give, but he certainly does. “I’ll give you the kind of love that fills you up until you’re bursting, and still you’ll beg me for more. ”

 _Dirty._

“That’s fucking, not love.” She’s almost too lightheaded to choke out the words. The way he is copying the movement of his hips with a single finger against the embarrassingly damp apex of her thighs makes it hard to even think, let alone answer him. He seems much too pleased with this result.

“For us, it would be one in the same, babydoll.” She doesn’t know why, or what part of her brain has been irreversibly damaged, but she believes him.

“And if I say no?” She won’t, not any longer, but still…she needs to know, as if his answer would make what they were doing any more palatable.

“I’m not going to force you.” She wants to believe that too, more than anything. But is the insistent press of his cock against her stomach a contradiction to that? Or maybe it’s the way he takes her hand and presses it up against the bulge in his jeans and guides her to find a rhythm that makes beads of sweat form on his forehead. She didn’t know if she would keep the motion up if he let her go. Maybe that was the worst part.

“The first time we make love…” His mouth rolls around the word “love” in a way that makes her stomach all crinkly. Fuck, she corrects in her head. It wouldn’t be anything else between them. She doesn’t notice that the speeding up of their hands is all her doing. “Your first time, you’re going to be begging me for it.”

For it to end, she tells herself. But no amount of lying will save her dignity. No amount of lying can hide the hard press of her thighs together or how she wishes his fingers were back on her instead. Her breath sounds too loud for her own ears and his name, a moan, feels ripped right out of her throat, raw around the edges. It’s not quite the answer he is looking for.

“Tell me yes, Claire.” Her eyes, wide and brighter than they were only minutes ago, stare up at him. What would happen if she did? Would he take her right there? Would she really be opposed to that?

A car engine; finally, her father rumbles up to the parking lot. It’s one of those funny things; she’s not sure whether to wish he had come ten minutes earlier…or a half an hour later. Still, it’s just the deus ex machina that prevents her from answering him. “My father. I have to…”

“You’ll get back to me on this.” She doesn’t ask how. She’s not entirely sure she wants that answer.

“Oh, and Claire,” Sylar says as she steps out of the shadows. He pauses long enough for her to fear the worst. “Mention a word of this to anyone and I’ll kill them all.” She turns around to promise she won’t. He’s not there any longer.

She’s almost disappointed.

That should have been her last warning.


End file.
